


One Wrong Move

by Batshit_Bogs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, I was in an angsty mood sorry lol, Slit Throat, Whump, no beta we die like robins, no one dies!!! I'm making that clear now, sorry Dami ily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: “One step closer and the kid gets it,” the thug hisses.It’s such a cliche line that, in any other situation, Dick would have laughed extensively at, but he can’t this time.Not when the bastard has a knife pressed to Damian’s throat.-Patrol goes wildly wrong - but when does it not?
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 153





	One Wrong Move

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a whumpy mood. This was sitting in my phone's notes, so I cleaned it up a bit and here it is. 
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- blood descriptions_  
>  _\- rough language_
> 
> If I missed anything, lemme know

“One step closer and the kid gets it,” the thug hisses.

It’s such a cliche line that, in any other situation, Dick would have laughed _extensively_ at, but he can’t this time.

Not when the bastard has a knife pressed to Damian’s throat.

“Alright,” Dick says slowly, keeping his hands where the man can see them. He keeps his eyes on Damian, and can’t help a spark of pride at how calm he’s being. If anything, he looks furious, and if the knife was being held at least an inch away he would have already lashed out and escaped the thug’s grip. But the blade is flush to his skin, so all Damian can do is ball his fists. 

Out of the corner of his eye Dick can see Cass slinking along the wall in the shadows as she tries to get behind the thug. Next to Dick, Tim is shifting slightly, eyes glued on Damian as well. Every inch of his being screams the need to _fight, move, do something._ But maybe Dick is projecting. 

“ _St_ _atus_?” Barbara says in his ear.

“Robin is being held hostage,” Tim answers for him. 

“Who’re you talking to?” the thug snaps.

“No one, just a teammate.”

“Don’t talk to them!”

“Okay, our bad. Oracle, no questions.”

“ _Contacting the commissioner - keep them relaxed. I’ll be listening.”_

Dick’s hands twitch towards his escrima sticks. He tilts his head every so slightly at Damian, who furrows his eyebrows and takes a visibly deep breath.

_I’m okay, but I am_ **_not_ ** _happy about this._

“We’re not gonna attack or anything,” Dick says. “No one has to get hurt - just let Robin go and we can talk this out.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that?” The thug says in a near hysterical tone. His grip on Damian tightens and the kid tilts his head up a tad as the knife presses closer. “You think I’m an _idiot?_ ”

Red beads at the point of the knife and rage explodes white-hot in Dick’s gut. He’s going to _murder_ this bastard. There is literally nothing he wants more than to rip Damian away from him and beat this motherfucker into next year. 

“No! No, of course not,” Dick says quickly. It’s a struggle to keep his voice steady against the rampage of fear and anger roiling through him. 

The only sign that Damian feels the nick is the way he somehow goes more still. He’s almost relaxed, every inch of him bleeding trust in his siblings to save him. Yet again, Dick feels pride at how far he’s come from the ‘death before dishonor’ mentality. 

“What do you want?” Dick asks. Tim has started to inch towards his discarded bo-staff. “Maybe we can help each other out.”

The thug’s wild eyes flick to Tim and he snaps, “Don’t move! Don’t fuckin’ move or I swear to god I’ll slit the kid’s throat!” 

Tim freezes in place and takes a step back from where he’s nearly to the staff. “Sorry,” he apologizes calmly. “I’m backing away.”

“Yeah, you better.” The thug returns his attention to Dick. “I need a car. A-and money.”

“We can do that,” Dick says. “Let Robin go and we’ll get them.”

“The kid stays with me!”

“Okay.”

“I also need protection from the cops. And the Bat. Insurance that I can leave the city without an issue.”

Not a problem. Bruce isn’t even in the country at the moment.

“Consider it done.” Dick feels some of the tension in his shoulders leave as the thug visibly relaxes. “RR, get the Commissioner on the line and give him the demands.”

Tim hesitates and glances from Damian to the bo-staff before reluctantly pressing his finger to his comm unit and muttering into it. Cass is almost in position behind the thug. They just need to get some leeway between the knife and Damian’s throat. 

“This is ridiculous,” Damian hisses, and Dick swears under his breath as the thug gives him a little shake and snaps at him to shut up. Honestly it’s a miracle he’s gone this long without speaking - especially with all the ‘kid’ comments. 

“Robin, stand down,” Dick orders. Damian grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Yeah, brat, stand down,” the thug adds condescendingly. There’s a moment where Dick is sure that Damian is about to go feral, but thankfully he just sneers.

“The GCPD is on the way with the car and money,” Tim says. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”

The thug gives a sharp nod. The warehouse lapses back into silence as they wait. The thin trickle of blood on Damian’s neck has dried already, and the knife isn’t pressing into his skin anymore. Thank _fuck._ Dick glances behind the thug to Cass, who is waiting on his order. And he’d give it like he so desperately wants to, but the knife is still too close to Damian’s neck for comfort, and Dick would rather not risk it.

Sirens permeate the tense silence, and mere seconds later red and blue flash through the windows. Something outside crashes and everyone jumps at the sudden sound - the thug whips around and releases Damian, and Dick nearly falls over in relief. 

Damian stumbles and one of his hands flies to his throat.

Dick’s heart freezes in his chest. 

Red seeps out from between Damian’s fingers, and blood dribbles from his mouth as he makes an agonized choking sound. 

_No_ **_._ **

Damian falls to his knees.

“NO!” Dick roars, and the warehouse explodes into action. Cass kicks the thug away from Damian and Dick pelts forward to land a solid punch to his jaw. 

All he can see is red. All he can hear is the sirens outside, his heartbeat in his ears. He blindly strikes the thug again and again because this bastard, this random, backwater thug just fucking slit his little brother’s throat and Damian can’t die _again -_

“Nightwing!” Cass’ voice penetrates his blind rage and her hands are a grounding sensation as she tries to pull him away. “Stop, please.” 

Dick blinks as the blinding rage drains away. The thug groans in pain, and for good reason - his face is an unrecognizable mess of blood and wrong angles. Dick almost killed him. The darker part of him whispers _finish the job’._

Cass pulls him off of the thug and he goes willingly, the fight in him fading as soon as it appeared. 

A void that shouldn’t be familiar ( _but it is, painfully so_ ) yawns wide in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. Dick can’t even bring himself to turn around. He can’t see Damian dead in a pool of his own blood _again,_ and it’s his fault. 

_His fault that Damian is -_

“Nightwing!” Tim shouts, his voice sharp and emotionless like it always is when he’s in Red Robin mode. “We need to move, now!”

“Save Robin,” Cass says, squeezing Dick’s shoulder.

Save him? But saving him means - Dick makes himself turn around. Tim is crouched over Damian, pressing gauze over the wound. Damian is gripping tight to his brother’s arm.

_Not dead, not yet, there’s a chance -_

Dick breathes again - when had he stopped? - and stumbles over to them. He falls to his knees and nearly chokes on a sob that threatens to rip out of him at the sight of Damian covered in his own blood. 

Damian’s skin, normally so warm and flush with color is ashen. The eye-lenses of his mask have been flipped up, revealing too-wide eyes that flutter as he stares at the ceiling. God, he looks so _scared._

“I’ve already called Agent A, he sent the mobile and is prepping the med bay,” Tim says as if this is a minor stab wound, nothing to worry about. His lips are pressed in a thin line in a way that tells Dick that he’s trying extremely hard to stay in control of his emotions.

“How is it?” Dick asks. As if the answer won’t break him. He takes Damian’s free hand and squeezes it reassuringly, and Damian squeezes back with a white-knuckle grip.

“Not great,” Tim answers after a long pause. “I can’t tell how deep it is yet.”

There’s the distant sound of Cass dragging the thug outside (she must want to stay so badly, but she’s a saint for taking initiative and doing her job) and keeping the police from crashing into the warehouse. 

The Batmobile crashes in through the open loading door on the far side of the warehouse. Dick gathers Damian in his arms, trying not to think about the copper tang in the air or how Damian is trembling, and sprints to the mobile. He lays Damian along the back seat and sits by his head as Tim wordlessly takes the diver’s seat. Cass appears from nowhere to jump into shotgun, and the batmobile is tearing out of the warehouse at full throttle before her door is fully closed. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Dames,” Dick says, finally finding his words. He forces what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he keeps his hands pressed to the ugly line across Damian’s neck. His blood is disgustingly warm and slick against his skin where it seeps through the gauze, and Dick tries so hard not to pay attention to how he can feel his little brother’s lifeblood pump out under his fingers. “Stay with us.”

Damian’s eyelids are low over pain-glazed eyes. He squeezes them shut and his hand flops uselessly. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle and a gush of blood.

It’s gruesome and terrifying and Dick feels sick and his life is dying underneath his hands - 

“Don’t talk,” he says quickly. “Just relax, you’re gonna be fine. Just focus on my voice, alright? You did great tonight, I’m so proud of you, buddy.” 

Damian’s hand falls to his side and his head lolls.

Cold shards of fear stab through Dick’s heart. 

“No. No no no, Damian!” He pats Damian’s cheek desperately- his hands are doing jack shit to staunch the blood flow. “No, Damian, wake up, you gotta stay with me!”

The only sign that Damian is alive is the shallow, aborted stutters of his small chest, but even that is a small comfort, if at all. 

The batmobile screeches into the cave and Cass jumps out before it even makes a full stop to sprint ahead to Alfred. Tim throws open the side door and pulls Damian out of the car - his eyelids don’t even flutter at the motion. 

Dick can’t move. He can’t stop staring at the crimson coating the seat and his hands. There’s so much. Too much for such a small person. 

If this takes Damian from him again...Dick doesn’t think he’ll survive it. 

He has no idea how much time passes as he sits in the back of the batmobile, trying not to shatter into pieces. In the med bay Alfred, Tim, and Cass are fighting for Damian’s life, and Dick is just...sitting here. He should be _helping._ But he just...he can’t move. If he moves, his feet will carry him to the med bay, and then he’ll see Damian dying on a table. Maybe Damian is already dead. Maybe it’s too late. It felt too late.

“Dick.” 

Dick lifts his gaze to see Tim looking into the batmobile, his expression blank.

“You should probably get out of the car.”

Right. Right, he should do that. Dick forces himself to step out and close the door. It echoes in the stillness of the cave. 

Tim crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Sighs. His gloves are coated with red.

“Go take a shower,” he finally says. “Wash off the blood and stuff - you’ll feel better.”

Isn’t this backwards? Tim telling Dick to take care of himself. What a shitty brother Dick is - he should be asking how Tim is right now and making sure both of his little brothers are okay.

Instead, Dick asks, “Damian?”

“Cass and Alfred are handling it.”

“I can help -”

“Can you?” Tim’s voice is sharp as ever. “Cause from where I’m standing you can’t. Just...go upstairs.”

Dick should argue. He should compartmentalize and push through and _help._ It’s what a good person should do. But he just nods.

“I’ll call Bruce and tell him what happened,” Tim continues.

“No, I can -” Dick starts (he wants to do something, anything), but Tim cuts him off with a single word.

“Don’t.” Tim walks off towards the computers. His caped shoulders are tight, and his right hand is repeatedly clenching.

Dick should chase after him. Hug him. Reassure him that none of this is his fault - it’s Dick’s, it’s all Dick’s - and be a _good fucking brother._

He goes upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Damian lives!!! He's not happy with being unable to talk until his throat is healed, but he gets there. He and Cass team up to pull Dick out of his self-loathing, and it ends with cuddling & movie night. 
> 
> Pilfer my peonies @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


End file.
